Baby Talk 2
by allthingsdecent
Summary: This is actually just part 2 of Baby Talk. But since I marked that story as complete, I was afraid you guys wouldn't find this. This will make ZERO sense if you haven't read part one.


**For grins, I went ahead and wrote part 2 of **_**Baby Talk**_**. **

Cuddy was at a meeting with some potential donors when her pager went off.

She looked down.

"I've got to take this," she said, apologetically, standing. Everyone in the room—all men—dutifully stood, their chairs scraping against the floor. (Cuddy was often the only woman in a room of balding, gray-suited men—this routine had played out more times than she could count.)

She gestured for them all to sit. "I leave you in the very capable hands of Tom Garrett," she said with a confident smile, referencing her VP of administration. Then she whispered to Tom, "I'll be back as soon as I can" and rushed down the hall.

But when she got to Exam Room #1, the source of the page, it was just House, leaning against a metal exam table, his legs crossed, smirking at her.

"The page said it was emergency," she said, annoyed.

"There is an emergency—in my pants," he said.

"Not funny House. I was meeting with donors."

"I'm sure Dick Cheney can handle it."

She shook her head. "The pager is not a toy, House."

"What else am I supposed to do when you're wearing that dress?" he said, eyeing her.

She looked down, frowned a bit. "I wear this dress all the time," she said.

"And it's an emergency all the time. It's just that now, for the first time, I'm in a position to actually do something about it."

He folded his arms and gave an irresistible half-smile.

She sighed a bit.

"We are not having sex in an exam room," she said, walking toward him.

"Sex? I was just hoping for a kiss. Is sex even on the table?" He wagged an eyebrow. "Or under the table if you prefer."

"Absolutely not!"

But she smiled and put her arms around him, kissed him. Her tongue was lighting teasing his mouth and then she bit his lip a little and he got overly excited, and his hands began to dig under her skirt.

"Easy tiger," she said, backing away.

"Woman, you're killing me," he groaned, leaning back against the table.

"I'm killing myself," she admitted.

"Then my place? Tonight. I'll cook dinner."

"You're going to cook for me?"

"Of course. I am nothing if not a full service boy toy."

'"Is that a promise?" she said, provocatively.

"Oh my god, yes," he said.

"8 pm work?"

"It's perfect."

She began to back out of the room.

"And no more pages," she said.

"I'll try to contain myself."

#####

She got to his apartment at exactly 8 pm. She was wearing the same dress—dark red, hugging her curves in all the right places—because he seemed to like it. He was wearing freshly laundered clothing—a pink Oxford shirt and faded jeans—plus an apron. His hair was still a little wet from the shower.

"Hi," he said, still looking slightly dazzled that she had actually shown up.

"Smells great in here," she said, stepping in.

"Polenta casserole with black beans, queso fresco, and braised chicken," he said.

"Wow," she said.

He shrugged.

"Wine?"

"Sure," she said, amused and surprised by how attentive he was being.

He opened the wine deftly with a corkscrew, poured two glasses, then checked the casserole in the oven before sitting down beside her.

"To that dress," he said, raising his glass.

She took a sip of her wine.

"To removing this dress," she said with a giggle.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He dove for her, kissing her throat and cleavage, his hands kneading her ass. She wrapped her legs around him and, in moments they were both lost in a cloud of lust and desire and he carried her eagerly to the bedroom.

He unzipped and removed her dress, but then paused briefly to drink her in.

"Do you even know how fucking hot you are?" he breathed.

She was slightly out of breath at this point and her hair was wild and her lips were already a little swollen from where he had been kissing and nibbling her. Lying there, in just a strapless bra and black panties, with him looming over her, a look of pure, unadulterated _want _on his face, she had never felt sexier.

"Show me," she said. And he did.

Afterwards, they both lay back, laughing at the greatness of the sex, the intensity of their orgasms.

"Something's on fire," Cuddy said, still in a dream-like state.

"We are," House agreed.

Suddenly, she sat up, snapping out of her post coital daze.

"No, House. What's on fire?"

"Oh shit! My polenta!" he said, getting up so quickly, he nearly fell over. He pulled on his boxers, found his cane and limped into the kitchen, just as the smoke alarm went off.

"Shit!" he said.

By the time she joined him, he had grabbed an oven mitt, opened the oven and, coughing at the smoke, reached in to pull out the charred casserole.

"Fuck," he screamed, because the casserole was so hot that it hurt to touch, even through his oven mitt.

"Be careful!" she said to him.

He quickly dropped the casserole on top of the oven, then stepped back, waving his arm in front of him to clear the smoke.

Then he used his cane to whack the fire alarm several times until the battery came out, dangling from a wire, and there was finally silence.

"Motherfucker," he said, with a sheepish grin.

"That's a bit more well done than I usually like it," she cracked, inspected the useless polenta.

"Well, shit," he said, disappointed.

She laughed.

"I'll take what we just did over polenta casserole any day," she said, hugging him.

"You are truly the perfect woman," he said, hugging her back. Then he reached into the top drawer. "Pizza or Chinese?"

#####

"To order more fries or not to order more fries," Wilson said, musingly.

"Here, go to town," House said, pushing his plate toward him.

Wilson gaped at him.

"You're offering me food? Off _your_ plate?"

House shrugged.

"I just haven't been that hungry lately."

"And yet, paradoxically, you're in a very good mood," Wilson said, squinting at him. Then it dawned on him. "Okay, what's going on with you and Cuddy?"

House couldn't suppress a smile.

"No big deal," he said, looking down at his plate. "Just a couple of dates."

"A couple of dates?"

He gave a sneaky smile.

"And some toe-curling sex."

"You undeserving bastard."

House grinned.

"Look at you," Wilson said. "You're like a love-struck school boy."

"Believe me, what's happening between me and Cuddy is strictly graduate level," House boasted.

"Naturally. . . So what are you going to do to screw it up?" Wilson asked.

And House gave a "who knows?" shrug.

#####

The next day, Cuddy received another emergency page.

She shook her head, secretly excited to find out what House had in store for her.

They'd had one more date since the polenta fiasco, at a restaurant, where they managed to keep their hands off each other long enough to get through appetizers and dinner.

"Dessert?" the waiter had asked, gamely.

"Yes please!" they answered, both laughing. "Just not here," House added.

They were planning on seeing each other again on Friday.

The page said the emergency was in the lobby, which made her smile. What could it be? Would House do something as corny as flowers? Or would it be another attempted midday seduction?

But when she got to the lobby, it was curiously empty. No nurses, no receptionists, no patients.

She frowned.

"House?" she said.

"Surprise!" came a loud group of voices.

And much to her chagrin, half of her staff—nurses, doctors, administrators—popped up from behind various desks and partitions.

Her first reaction was shock, then a slight smile, because of all the merriment—then confusion.

"But it's. . .not my birthday," she said.

"We know," Anita, her assistant, said, with a sneaky grin.

And then another nurse rolled out a huge baby stroller, stuffed with gifts.

Cuddy's face fell.

"Congratulations!" Anita said.

At that moment, Cuddy spotted House, who was hanging in the back of the crowd, his arms folded, surveying his handiwork.

He winked at her, triumphantly.

She stared back at him, her eyes stinging with angry tears.

His mouth dropped open a bit.

"But I'm. . .I'm not pregnant," Cuddy stammered.

"What?" Anita said.

"Somebody has played a horrible, cruel joke," Cuddy said, her face reddening, still staring at House. "Everybody just get back to work, please. Just leave me alone."

And she stormed away, as her staff watched her, in shock.

House stared at her, then quickly began following her down the hall.

"Cuddy, wait!"

"Don't follow me House," she hissed.

"Come on, wait a second!"

She turned, her face streaked with tears.

"Did you actually think that was funny?"

"Kind of?"

"It wasn't! It was cruel and humiliating and the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me."

"But. . .it's our game. You got me with the fake pregnancy thing. Now I got you. Order has been restored in the prank universe."

She shook her head.

"I'm an idiot," she said, almost to herself. "I'm an idiot for thinking that you could ever change. That you could ever be my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" he said, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

She laughed, derisively.

"Forget it, House I can't even look at you."

"That's gonna be kind of hard Cuddy. What with you being my boss and everything."

"Right now, I wish I weren't!"

She started to walk away again, but he followed her, taking long, painful strides to catch up.

"I thought you would be impressed!" he said, still completely dismayed over this turn of events. "Do you know how much work I had to put it into this?"

(In fact, he'd had to plant a series of judicious rumors to just the right people at just the right time to assure that not only would the entire hospital think she was pregnant, they would also think it was her deepest heart's desire to have a secret, early baby shower.)

"Impressed?" she said, horrified. "I'm disgusted by you."

He swallowed.

"Then get me back," he said. "Something big. Something really awful. Tell everyone I have genital warts. Tell them that I shit the bed, that I masturbate in the MRI machine, that I club seals with my cane— use your imagination."

"I've never been treated this way in my life—ever," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm never going to forgive you for this, House."

House suddenly felt like _he_ was going to cry.

"Shit, Cuddy, I'm sorry."

"Apology not accepted."

This time when she walked away, he let her go.

####

House was several hours late for work the next day. He came stumbling into the differential at about noon, wearing sunglasses and the same clothing from yesterday, now decidedly more rumpled.

"Jesus House," Foreman said, disapprovingly. "Even by your own low standards, you look like shit."

"Thank you for your input, Anna Wintour."

They all sort of recoiled when he spoke.

"And you smell like a distillery!" Taub said.

Foreman peered at him.

"Are you still drunk?"

"Pro tip: If you never go to bed and keep drinking all through the night, the hair of the dog is unnecessary. Much more efficient this way," House said.

"You need to go home and sleep it off," Foreman said.

"I'm fine," House said. "Even drunk and operating on no sleep, I'm still sharper than any of you.

"He does have a point," Kutner said.

Everyone shot him a look.

"Take off your sunglasses," Foreman demanded.

"Take off that smug look on your face. Oh wait, you can't."

"House. . ."

House rolled his eyes a bit, removed his glasses. He had a rather gnarly looking black eye—swollen red and purple.

"Oh my god," Thirteen said, popping up to tend to him.

House jerked away from her touch.

"You need to have that looked at," Foreman said.

"I'm fine," House said.

"Oh yeah, tip top."

"Can we just continue with this differential!" House bellowed. Then, as though his own voice had given him a headache, he added, "Ouch."

"We think it's sarcoidosis that spread to his heart," Taub said.

"That would be an excellent diagnosis if our patient was Japanese."

"The scan says otherwise," Taub said, shoving the file toward him.

House looked at the image, then shook his head and squinted.

"Why does our patient have two hearts?" he said.

"That's it, you're going home!" Foreman said.

"Make me," House said.

"I will," Foreman said, popping up.

"He's running to Cuddy," House said. Then, yelling after him. "She's not the boss of me—well, except in the literal sense."

#####

Cuddy, trailed by Foreman, found House with his team in the imaging room.

"We need a minute, guys," Cuddy said.

"Tattletale," House said to Foreman.

"Degenerate," Foreman sniffed back.

The team shuffled out.

"You're drunk," Cuddy said.

"Not drunk," House countered. "Just not. . .sober."

"I could have you fired."

"So Vicodin's okay, but booze isn't? The rules are so confusing around this hospital."

"House, go home. Dry out and come back tomorrow."

"But, as the song goes, 'Will you still hate me, tomorrow'?"

"That's not the song," Cuddy said. "And yes, I will."

His shoulders slumped.

"Cuddy, I'm sorry. I screwed up, big time. I see that now."

"Yeah, you did."

"So let me make it up to you."

"No, House. We're done. Accept that and move on."

"Never."

"Well, it's not your choice."

Finally, she realized how strange it was that he was wearing sunglasses in the imaging room, even in his addled state.

"Take off your glasses," she said.

He looked at her and then, rather defiantly, took them off.

"You're a mess," she said, looking at his bruise with far less compassion than Thirteen had shown. "Did you have that checked out?"

"It's fine. Distracts me from the pain in my leg."

"I assume some guy decked you in a bar?'

"You assume correctly."

"And I assume you had it coming?"

"You again, assume correctly."

"Go home, House. I don't want to see you until tomorrow."

"You don't want to see me at all," he muttered.

#####

Later that day, Wilson found Cuddy in the cafeteria.

"What's this I hear about the world's most awkward baby shower?"

"Most humiliating moment of my life. And you'll never guess who was behind it," Cuddy said, taking an angry bite of her sandwich.

"_House_?"

"Who else?"

"But…_why_?"

"Revenge for me lying about being pregnant. He told me he was going to seek revenge. I just thought…well, never mind what I thought, I'm an idiot."

"I jokingly asked House how he was going to screw things up with you. I never expected it to be so quick and catastrophic."

"He thought it was just a game. He thinks everything will be fine once I prank him back. Except for the part where he took the greatest disappointment of my life and mocked it in front of my friends and colleagues for sport. Kind of hard to get over that."

"What a moron," Wilson said. "So I assume you won't be pranking him back?"

"I won't be dealing with him—at all."

Wilson shook his head.

"I'm actually stunned. I saw House the other day. He was on Cloud Nine. I've literally never seen him so happy."

Cuddy shrugged.

"I was happy, too. Until I remembered what an irredeemable ass House is."

"So where is loverboy now?" Wilson asked, biting on a carrot stick.

"I sent him home. He came in drunk today with a shiner the size of Texas on his eye."

Wilson sighed.

"Of course," he said grimly.

Cuddy looked up from her sandwich.

"Of course?"

"That's how House deals with guilt. He punishes himself through physical pain. I'm sure he picked a fight with the biggest guy at the bar, hoping to get clobbered."

"That's sick," Cuddy said.

"House is sick, in case you had forgotten. But he's also sorry for what he did. Of that much I'm certain. Let's just hope he's done punishing himself or it could really get out of hand."

Cuddy took another angry bite, eyed him, but said nothing.

#####

Late that night, she banged on House's door.

He answered, not wearing sunglasses—if anything, the black eye looked more swollen than earlier. He still hadn't changed his clothes and there was a half-drained bottle of scotch on the coffee table.

"You need to put an ice pack on that eye," she said, matter of factly, stepping inside.

She marched to his refrigerator. There was no ice pack, but there was a bag of frozen peas. She threw it at him, roughly. He caught it, surprised, and obediently put it on his eye.

"Is that why you're here?" he said. "To tend to my wounds?"

"No, I'm here to tell you I forgive you," Cuddy said.

"You…forgive me?" He was shocked.

"Wilson said you got into a fight to punish yourself for what you did to me. Is that true?"

He looked down, toed the rug with the tip of his Nikes.

"Maybe…I guess."

"Well, I don't want you getting seriously hurt on my behalf. So yes, I forgive you."

"But you don't actually forgive me…not really."

"I don't want you more hurt. Isn't that enough?"

He swallowed.

"I guess it has to be." He gave her a pathetic look. "Cuddy, I really am sorry."

"I know you are."

"If I could take it all back, I would. In a heartbeat."

"I know you would." Then, allowing the slightest bit of vulnerability to creep into her voice, she said: "But why'd you do it, House? I mean, really. Things were going so well between us."

"I know they were… And I don't know why I did it. I guess I just thought it was a game. . . and I took the game too far."

"Right," she said, disappointed. "A game. Of course." She started to leave, but he stopped her, grabbing her arm.

"That's not it," he said. "I did it because . . ."

"Because what?" she said, impatiently.

"Because I'm skilled at self-sabotage," he admitted.

She turned back to him. Her face softened, just the tiniest bit.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, when things are going well in my life I expect them to fall apart so I…facilitate the process."

"That is an incredibly stupid way to go through life," Cuddy said.

"I know," House said. "It's probably why I'm so happy and fulfilled."

She shook her head.

"I actually feel sorry for you, House."

"I feel sorry for me, too," he said. "I managed to screw up the best thing that's ever happened to me—and in record time!"

"I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you? Let's not get carried away."

"It felt that way. Or, at least, it felt like it could turn out to be."

She blinked.

"What am I going to do with you, House?"

"Give me a second chance?" he said.

She gave a grim laugh.

"I'm just the kind of idiot who probably _will_ give you a second chance," she said.

"Then you're my favorite kind of idiot," he said, with a relieved and uncertain smile.

"We'll sort this out tomorrow," she said. "In the meantime, when was the last time you slept?'

"When did I make you cry? Not since then."

She gave him a somewhat tender look.

"Alright, I'm putting you to bed," she said. She strode into the bedroom, indicating he should join her. He followed.

She went into his dresser, found a pair of striped pajamas, which she handed him. "Put these on," she said, all business. He did, slowly, eyeing her warily.

"Get under the covers," she said, pulling back the sheets.

He did.

"Now you too," he said, patting the bed beside him.

"I'm being nice so you think I'm going to sleep with you? Not everything is about sex, House," she said, firmly.

"Not sex, just sleep. I just want to hold you."

"Suure," she chuckled.

"Hey, even if I wanted to, I'm way too exhausted and wasted to, um, perform."

She looked at the clock on his nightstand. 11 pm. Then she looked at House, who was propped up on an elbow, staring at her hopefully.

She sighed.

"Alright," she said. She took off her jeans and sweater—she had a ribbed white tank top on underneath—found a pair of House's boxers and put them on. Then she climbed into bed next to him.

"You're an angel," he said, holding her.

"Go to bed, House."

He snuggled closer.

"I'll never hurt you again."

"Of course you will."

"Not on purpose."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

She gave him a light, brushing kiss on the lips, then laughed. "I thought you said you were too wasted to perform," she said, looking down at his pajama bottoms. She could feel him, hard, against her leg.

"Apparently, I'm physically incapable of not getting an erection when I'm in bed with you. You have no one to blame but yourself."

"We're still just sleeping," she said, with a slightly skeptical smile.

"I know," he said, kissing her neck.

"I mean it," she said.

"I know," he said, kissing her cleavage.

"There will be no sex of any sort," she said, with a tiny giggle, reaching under his pajama top and letting her hands glide across his stomach to the waistband of his pajamas.

"No none," he said, lifting her tank top and putting her breast in his mouth.

"Oh god," she said, leaning back and moaning a bit. "Okay, maybe there will be sex."

Eager to please her, House shimmied down the bed, put his face between her legs.

"Oh_ goddddd_," she repeated, arching her back, as he began to lap away.

It felt so good, she almost lost herself. But then, rather suddenly, something occurred to her.

"House?" she said.

He looked up from under the covers—wild-eyed—afraid she was going to tell him to stop.

"I'm not saying I had anything to do with it, but you, um, might want to check your office tomorrow for tripwires."

He grinned, happily, and buried his face back between her legs.

THE END


End file.
